Fasika Ethiopian Restaurant

This is the first review by request (or should I say goading), by Central Corridor Construction Club's Mary Morse:  Fasika Ethiopian Restaurant, 510 N Snelling Ave, (651) 646-4747.

Central Corridor work is clearly apparent and does not help to alleviate Fasika's already
dire parking situation.

I have to say that based on prior experience, the BARF-SUAVE crew was not enthusiastic about this assignment. In the 1980s and 90s both Joel and I sampled some African restaurants. In Minneapolis, we ate at Odaa and found the food rather bland. When I spent a couple of months mountaineering and traveling in Kenya and Tanzania, I had the same experience. I have to admit that the food I ate was often from lunch counters and street vendors, more aimed at filling the stomachs of hardworking men and women and not home-cooked dinners or restaurants. In Nairobi I found the discrepancy between the wide variety of foods at local markets and the fare offered at food stands most puzzling. Basic nutrition seemed to trump the culinary arts. If you have experiences that disagree with my own, please keep in mind that I was traveling on a shoestring budget.

We got to Fasika at around 6 PM and found the place bustling, with most of the tables already occupied. Mekan, our friendly waitress led us to a table and brought menus. I pled for the Ultimate Combo, covering beef, lamb, chicken and various vegetable dishes, supposedly feeding two to three. After about ten minutes of pondering, we made that selection and added two Hakim stouts for good measure.

Ethiopian cuisine gives the expression "finger foods" something to chew on ...

A large platter of food, a good two feet in diameter and truly looking like a painter's palette arrived rather quickly and was set between Joel and me. Next to the platter, a dish of Injera, the traditional Ethiopian spongy bread was deposited. It was then that Joel noticed the utter absence of silverware. I ripped a piece of Injera and used it to grabbing food off the platter. Joel immediately followed my example. If the food platter was our palette, the Injera was our tool and the insides of our stomach (and the vicinity of our mouths) the canvas. We were laying it on thickly!

We should not have worried, all foods were deliciously spiced. Flavorwise,  the dishes could be divided into two broad categories. The Key Wot dishes, having the Berbere sauce as its base, had the spiciness of the key ingredients of pepper, garlic, onion and other spices as well as a hint of acidity as if from vinegar. The Alicha Wot, or curries tasted very much like some Indian cuisine. Out of the spread, we did not come across anything we did not like, however, the beef Key Wot and the Gomen greens were BARF-SUAVE favorites.

Fasika Ultimate Combo, as written up by our kind server Mekena:
Beef Key Wot, a beef stew cooked in Berbere sauce. Berbere is a combination of peppers, garlic, onion and spices, dried and ground together.
Beef Alicha Wot, curry
Lamb Key Wot
Lamb Alicha Wot, curry
Lamb Tibs. Tibs are marinated pieces of meat.
Dorow Wot, chicken stew.
Misir Key Wot, lentils
Misir Alicha, lentil curry
Atkilt, veggie curry with potatoes, carrots, onions, cabbage and peppers
Gomen, greens, mostly spinach
Kik Alicha Wot, peas with berbere sauce
Fosolia, green bean and carrot curry
Shiro Wot chick pea flour cooked in berbere sauce.

There was way too much food for the two of us, there would have been plenty for three, possibly for four of a smaller appetite. I had the leftovers packed to take home and even after my family pillaged the box over the weekend I had plenty left for a good lunch on Monday.

Big Daddy's BBQ

Big Daddy's BBQ is a St. Paul institutions which has seen a few locations. It started out as a food trailer, moved to the Depot, Downtown St. Paul, then to University Ave, just east of Dale to its current location, still University, now just West of Dale, across from the Rondo Library. I have to say I'm missing buying my ribs in the old building adjacent to the old Frogtown St. Paul Police precinct building, and then eating it while leaning against some stand-up picnic tables in the hot parking lot next to the smokers staffed by sweaty men. Observing the alchemy of marinated sides of beef and pork be transmuted into sumptuous food was as much part of the eating experience as listening to the friendly banter between customers, staff and passer-bys. A definite downside of this setup was the fact that Big Daddy's was strictly a seasonal experience, i.e. during the warm months.

After the NE corner of University and Dale fell to the wrecking ball (the new building is almost complete but does not look like it will ever house a bbq), Big Daddy's was left high and dry for a while, and searching for a new location. Fortunately, this hiatus coincided with the winter months and Big Daddy's reopened in its current location at 625 University Ave.

Pork and I go way back. The dairy farmers in my old neighborhood in Belgium would often fatten up a couple of pigs for the larder. Come October, a butcher from town would come to slaughter the tasty creatures. My grandma would send me over with a big bowl to get the butcher to capture the blood from the stuck sow. I was under specific instructions to return home on the double, so the precious liquid would not have a chance to coagulate. She then transformed into delicious blood sausage, dark maroon in color, with white chunks of bacon.

And then there was the instance when our physics teacher told us about the value of smoking. In 1975 or so, the Belgian Ministry of Education decided in its infinite wisdom that smoking should be banned from in the classroom. Like Minnesota bar patrons, the smoking segment of the Belgian teacher population were not altogether happy. Especially those who, like my 7th grade history teacher had fingers that were stained yellow from their habit, tried to resist the change as long as possible. Those among them who had at most one or two years till retirement were the most reticent. In that latter category fell Monsieur Petit, in spite of his name a tall man with a shock of white hair and as passionate about imparting to us the science of physics as he was about his Belga Reds without filter. I was in his sophomore class, along with a few of my fellow students, including a certain young woman, a little padded around the edges, a teacher's brat and a Ms. Know-it-All. As Mr. Petit lit one of his beloved Belgas on the still glimmering butt of the previous one, she had the audacity to inteject "Mr. Petit, don't you know that you can't smoke here any longer?" Mr. Petit took a deep drag from his fresh smoke and exhaled towards the ceiling. Then he ambled towards her and came to a stop, facing her across a tall lab table. He leaned forward, took another deep drag from his Belga and blew the smoke into her face. As she was snapping for air, fanning the air between them with her hands, he said "Didn't you know that only the best pieces of pork are smoked?"

I am glad to report that the smokers at Big Daddy's are fed with a substrate that impart a rather more appetizing aroma than tobacco, instead, hickory is used.  The meat is cooked slowly and leaves the smoker/grill when the meat is so soft that it simply falls of the bones and melts in the mouth.

We ordered half a rack of beef and half a rack of pork with a side of collard greens and one of potato salad. We sat facing University Ave chomping down our meal. The beef ribs were uncharacteristically dry, maybe just to emphasize the delicious succulence of the pork. Based on my early experience with pork, that is my meat of choice anyway, and it is cheaper by a few bucks as well. The collard greens and potato salad round out the dining experience. Highly recommended!

As a Belgian I had to ask whether Big Daddy would be adding fries again. The answer was a simple no. When they moved in at the new location, they had less room, because the smokers had to be moved indoors. A poll amongst their clientèle, bbq OR fries had the overwhelming outcome in favor of BBQ.